


The Bloodhouse

by Laetitia_Laetitii



Category: Runescape
Genre: Gen, Zarosian Empire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laetitia_Laetitii/pseuds/Laetitia_Laetitii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is about vyres and humans in the Zarosian Empire.<br/>Senntisten was a harsh place to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bloodhouse

_Nota bene: This is about a heacanon of mine concerning vyres in the Zarosian Empire,[which you can read here.](http://laetitialaetitii.tumblr.com/post/128641639032/2nd-age-vyre-headcanon) I recommend reading the fic first._

_If the geography is confusing, my[Senntisten headcanon map might help](http://laetitia-laetitii.deviantart.com/art/Headcanon-map-for-Mid-2nd-Age-Senntisten-571022603)_

 

***

One spring morning Aias got up early and went to the bloodhouse in Via Angusta.

He rose before dawn, as did the five men he shared the room with. They washed, dressed, and rolled away their sleeping mats as they did every day, stepping over and around each other in the narrow space. He did not speak to the others as they made their way down three flights of rickety stairs, and he did not say goodbye when the group split at the door. The others set out for the docks on the River Salve, while Aias turned east and headed deeper into the maze of lanes south of Silvarea. Up until a week ago, he had been working with the rest at the docks where they had packed and unpacked the cargo from river barges. Then one day they had been hauling bales of wool off a ship, trying to get the job done before an incipient drizzle turned into a pour, and his hand got caught in the straps. There was already too much momentum behind the swing, and now he was a two fingers short with something torn inside his shoulder.

           The previous night he had paid for his sleeping spot with the last of his money. Now he had to think of something else. Aias was twenty-eight and unmarried, with two working legs and one working arm. He had been a stevedore since he came to Senntisten. Before that he had worked on a road north of Kharid, and before that he had been a conscripted soldier. Before that he had been a farmer’s son in Carrallangar.

            When Aias got to Via Angusta, he continued past the main entrance of the bloodhouse and turned into an alley. There was a human guard at the side entrance, lounging across the doorway. Aias opened his mouth to present his case, but the guard waved him in with barely a look. He stepped over the man’s legs, and pushed past a heavy curtain into an anteroom.

            The windows were narrow and latticed, and as such they let in just enough light to see by. The room was small and low-ceilinged, the floor cracked terracotta, the walls unpainted. On the tiles sat a handful of humans waiting to be called. Seeing that there was no-one to receive him, Aias picked a spot by a wall and sat down, cradling his sling with his good arm. There was time to kill, and so he observed the others.

Across the room opposite of him sat a very thin young man with a deep, fresh cut across his face and a smattering of small scars at his throat. He leaned his back against the wall, eyes half-closed, mouth frozen into a sneer. A few feet to his right a woman sat hugging her knees as tightly as her belly would allow. She had not looked up as Aias entered and she did not look up as he sat down. Unlike the young man she had no shoes, and her feet were black with dirt.

           On his side of the room near the door sat a pair of Loarnics, a man and a woman. Her head rested on his shoulder, and his fingers played in her dark hair. They were the only ones talking, whispering words in their own language to each other. The man said something that made the woman laugh and he buried her face in the crook of his neck. They didn’t care who saw.

            A door slammed somewhere, and from the corridor leading deeper into the house appeared a bald man in a long, sleeveless robes. He said nothing, but simply motioned for the young man to follow. The boy got up, and disappeared down the dark corridor.

            Time passed. The Loarnics continued their chat and the woman stared at her dirty feet. A cockroach scuttled across the floor and disappeared into a crack between the tiles. The boy did not come back. A while later, the little bald man returned, and this time told the woman to come with him. Aias saw her face clearly for the first time as she passed, and her eyes were wide with fear.

            Outside, feet passed in the street and cartwheels rattled down Via Angusta. Someone appeared at the side door and spoke to the guard. He answered something, and the veil was thrown aside to allow in a woman and little girl. The woman’s clothes were of decent make but worn, and her sandals were beginning to fall apart. The girl holding her hand could not be older than eight. They walked across the floor and entered the corridor uninvited.

            Soon afterwards, the pregnant woman came back. She had a rag tied around her left elbow, and she squeezed it tightly as she hurried out of the door.

            Now it was just Aias and the Loarnics. They had ceased their talk, and the woman was resting her head against the man’s chest. His eyes were closed, but he did not breathe like a sleeper. She stared at Aias from the crook of the man’s arm, and when he met her eyes she smiled, and the white patches under her eyes narrowed into stripes. Then she too closed her eyes, and her young face relaxed into sleep.

            In the absence of other distractions, Aias inspected his maimed hand. The caught fingers had been torn off but for a strip of flesh, and there had been nothing anyone could do. As the rain began to fall down, someone had helped him to the wharf. There had been voices around him, and then a knife and pain, and then the smell of boiling tar and blood. A bottle had been pressed to his lips and Aias had drunk profusely, and nowhere in it had he managed to mention the shoulder. The rain was cold and heavy and the liquor burned his throat.

            The stumps under the bandages hurt, but they did not smell. His shoulder ached every waking minute, and the muscles had no strength left in them.

            A while later the bald man came back for the third time. The Loarnics opened their eyes, and seeing him, got up but did not go. Instead, the man turned to the woman and wrapped his arms around her tightly. He kissed her on the forehead, then twice on both eyelids, and whispered something in her ear. Aias caught the last word, _sogan._ Siblings then. Then the man turned around and followed the bloodhouse man down the corridor. His sister stood on spot for a while, looking after him until he was gone, and then she turned around and rushed out of the door.

            It was close to midday when the man came to fetch Aias. The Loar had not returned, and since no other hopefuls had arrived, and he had had the room all to himself. At some point a patrolman had showed up at the door, and after a few words he had sat down for a game of dice with the guard. Aias had watched their outlines against the sunlit veil, and listened the clatter of bone on flagstones. They did not cease their game when the procurer showed up, and the sounds of them calling out numbers followed him down the dark, windowless corridor.

            The chamber the bald man took him to had originally been a part of a larger space, but had since been divided off with a hastily constructed wall. The man closed the door behind them, and looked Aias up and down.

“First time in a place like this?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to your arm?”

“I hurt it at work.”

“Let’s look at it then. Take off your clothes.”

            Aias did as he was told and divested himself of his belt and tunic. It took some time with one hand. Then the little bald man told him to open his mouth and he inspected Aias’ teeth for abscesses or rot. Then he turned up Aias’ eyelids, studying them for inflammation. Then the man walked around him, and searched his skin for wounds and lesions. He asked about the scars Aias had acquired in the army. No, he had no illnesses he knew off. Yes, he shat regularly. It was brown. Not green. Not black. Not watery. Then the man told him to untie his underclothes and inspected his genitals. No, pissing did not hurt. There was no blood in it. It did not leak. The man looked at Aias’ fingernails, and asked a few questions about his arm. No, it was not infected. Yes, it was in pain. That was good, some of them liked the taste of pain.

            Everything looked alright. The procurer would take a sample for the taster who would make the decision.

            He then made Aias sit on a stool, and took from a side table a cup and a small knife. He used the knife to slice a cut across the crook of Aias’ good elbow, and then let the blood run along the blade into the cup. He would be back shortly. Before he left, he handed Aias a rag, and told him to press it on the wound.

            Time passed. The rag was browned with old blood and worn with washing. Aias held it still by holding his good arm doubled.

            Eventually, the procurer came back, empty cup in hand.

“Good news”, he said. “Taster liked it. You’re in.”

            Then he explained Aias the house rules. A place to sleep, two meals a day. For what went over the price of his upkeep he’d get a percentage after the first week. They were not allowed to kill or injure. Some of them took more, some of them took less. If any of them ever asked for more than they had paid for, he was to tell them to talk to the cashier. If he tried to take independent earnings he’d be found out and kicked out.

            Was it all clear? It was all clear. He could put on his clothes.

            Then the little man took from a shelf a small wax tablet and a stylus. His name? Aias. His age? Twenty-eight. Where from? Carrallangar. Price category three. And a single word: _Doleo._

            Then it was down another corridor, past the doors of similarly partitioned little rooms, and then they were at the back door of the bar. They had turned a few corners, and Aias was surprised to find himself in a room with a view of the Via Angusta. By the open, unveiled main entrance was desk, and behind it sat the Kharidian woman who owned the place. She was a squat little creature with a fat froggish face under an elaborate hairdo. The thick greasepaint on her skin cracked further as she smiled at the entering customers and her ringed fingers worked fast as she took their money. In return she handed them stamped pieces of clay, and pointed them to the tables in the middle.

            Around the tables, each marked with a number to denote price category, sat the bloodhouse people. Men, women, boys and girls. No small children, they were kept in the rooms. Aias saw the Loar at one table, and the boy with a cut across his face at another. Having paid for a certain amount of blood of a certain grade, the customers could take their pick and retire with their server to a side table. Aias’ found himself staring at a corner seat, where a sentinel with clipped wings sat beside a Dareeyakian girl. The vyre’s mouth was latched to her neck, and she held her long hair aside with one hand and steadied herself with the other. Her fingers beat the table as she counted down the seconds.

            “That’s yours, second from the left”, said the procurer. “Category three. Put your tablet on and get in there.”

                        Without a word Aias accepted the wax tablet and hung it around his neck. Feeling strangely light, as if nothing could touch him, he walked into the bar room and sat down at table three. He did not greet the other humans, or even look at them. He would have the time to learn their names later. Instead, he glued his eyes to the door to Via Angusta and waited.


End file.
